


older (and not yet wiser)

by green_tea_mochi



Category: Coraline (2009), Coraline - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Character of Color, Character Study, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Baggage, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Supernatural Elements, only hinted at because their friendship is adorable, relationship is very open ended
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:47:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25158727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/green_tea_mochi/pseuds/green_tea_mochi
Summary: The snapdragons shrivel in the garden, and Coraline dreams of whispered voices and the bright lights of a circus....A character study of one (not-so-lonely) adventurer and the years that come after.
Relationships: Coraline Jones & Wybie Lovat, Coraline Jones/Wybie Lovat
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29





	older (and not yet wiser)

The snapdragons shrivel in the garden, and Coraline dreams of whispered voices and the bright lights of a circus. The summer months have bled into August, and suddenly school has emerged like an ugly, leering mantis from the grass. It’s not that Coraline dislikes school, it’s fine most days, but classes are loud and boring, and she can’t hear herself think half the time. The whole thing might be better if Wybie was there at least, and although there might have been a time when she would have rather eaten rotten chard than admit _that_ out loud, it’s different now. Maybe not better, but new.

Wybie’s awkward and bumbling and everything Coraline could want in a friend, and she tells him this whenever they both have time to meet at the old well or pick apples in the grove. 

He’s changed over the years, or maybe it’s just her that’s changed, but either way Wybie seems softer now, less fumbling and ragged at the edges. The coat is still dirty and long enough to drag through the mud, but he’s grown into it. When he comes around every Saturday at four and Coraline greets him with whatever snide remark she’s thought up, he doesn’t close up, hunch over and wring his hands like he used to. Instead he laughs and shoves her until they’re both giggling and stumbling up the stairs. Instead of sand he’s filled with shy, lingering touches and the barest whisper of a smile. On the days that rain blankets the house in gray sheets, they bake in the kitchen, spilling flour on the countertops and cracking eggs over the sink, but they always end up outside. Most important things in Coraline’s life have happened outside, she thinks.

But it’s August now, and good things can’t last forever. Wybie’s homeschooled in his grandmother’s grand, creaky house, and Coraline sits through lectures on Algebra until her ears bleed. 

If she doesn’t have many friends inside of school, it doesn’t bother her, not like it might have used to. There’s something less real about friends who haven’t opened wells for you.

And if she sometimes hears humming in the quiet of her bedroom, or the scurrying of little feet up and down the hallway, then she can ignore it. She’s less afraid now, maybe because she’s older or maybe just because she has Wybie this time around. For whatever reason, the house feels safer.

The leaky windows are familiar, the rumple in the hallway carpet endearing instead of annoying ( _even if she still trips over it some mornings)_. A can of bug repellent in the bathroom solved the insect problem years ago, and a fresh coat of paint over the drawing room brightened the ugly walls and boring blue boy. If she lets her mom paint the furthest corner then that’s no one’s business but hers. She’s still waiting for the mouse circus, but Coraline’s okay with waiting, and it’s entertaining enough just to watch Mr. Bobinsky yell at the mice from his perch on the balcony railing. She doesn’t think she could stomach popcorn anyway. 

Her room is still drab, but it’s warmer now, with another window on the far wall and a bean bag chair tucked into the corner instead of a toy chest. It’s empty, plain, but it’s hers, and she likes it that way. It gives her space to lay out her rain jacket and explorer hat on the floor, spread out her new rocks from the pockets, have room to set back and admire them. And if sometimes she has to pause while banana slug searching to glance back at Wybie, at the way his eyes widen at the rocks she holds up, the dowsing rod she waves ahead, it’s okay. It’s worth it, even if she sometimes sees still and black instead of honey-brown and warm. 

The snapdragons still shrivel. They rot at the kitchen table until her mom throws them out, and Coraline doesn’t say a word. She dreams of polka dots and pale bleached eyes spinning circles above her, and it’s okay. The apples still fall and decay in the orchard, and when she wants to, when she needs reminding, she picks one off the ground and carries it up the hill to Wybie’s house.

**Author's Note:**

> I found myself rewatching Coraline the other day, and I had forgotten how much of an impact the movie (and book) had on me when I was younger. The story’s stayed with me for a while now, and I just felt like I needed to write something for this...And so came to be this 2am, caffeine induced fic that I barely remember writing. As always, my inbox is always open for questions and critique. <3


End file.
